


Reunion in 5 Verses

by silentid



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: 5 Times, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Stancest Week 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-03
Updated: 2017-02-03
Packaged: 2018-09-21 15:06:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9553919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentid/pseuds/silentid
Summary: Stan had imagined his homecoming a thousand times over, different scenarios depending on just how successful he became. A few things were always the same though, his mother weeping, a warm hug from his brother, and a simple ‘I’m impressed,’ from his father.So of course, that’s never how it went.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I originally wrote this for Day 2: Adult Stan's but was unable to keep up with the inevitable passage of time, I was just going to post it late but than I realized it totally works for the today's prompt. So here are five AU reunions for Day 4: AU.
> 
> Stan and his dad's interactions in the Vietnam reunion are heavily inspired by manoverboard's [Going to War AU](http://manoverboard-fic.tumblr.com/post/156025418719/29-stancest) .

**1.**  


The house party was a loud raucous thing with thumping music and sweaty bodies. It was the end of term and the students at the local college were partying like the world was ending.

But Stan had a job to do. He had been working as extra muscle for a local dealer for a few weeks, which mostly meant he carried heavy stuff and looked tough while the scrawny guy was selling the product. It was a pretty easy gig, especially when most of the clientele were nervous college kids or, like tonight, college kids so out of it they couldn’t hurt a fly. On nights like tonight just his presence was enough to deter the gyrating mess of bodies away from the back bedroom his boss had set-up shop in. 

Which made if very surprising when one of those bodies collided with him, sending them both careening to the floor.

“Hey, watch it, kid,” he snarled, hoping the idiot was just too drunk to see where he was going and not trying to pull anything.

“Who are you calling a kid? You’re the same age as the rest of us.”

Great, drunk and a smart ass, Stan’s favorite combination in these snobby college kids. He gave the other guy a hard shove to get him off his lap and stood up. 

“Yeah, well, I’ve got a job to do,” Stan grumbled. 

The other guy struggled to his feet, the alcohol obviously making it difficult. Stan couldn’t make out the guy's features in the strobing party lights.

“Oh, a business man, I like that. I, I actually came over here cause you’re cute and my friends think I need to get laid. What do you think about that, Mr. Business-Man?” the guy asked, swaying on his feet.

“I think you’re really drunk,” Stan replied. Though he couldn’t help feeling flattered or the stirring down south, it had been awhile since he had the company of more than just his hand. “And I’m on the clock.”

“Well here's my address,” the guy said, pushing a slip of paper into Stan’s hand. “Maybe stop by when you’re done with the clock.”

Stan glanced at the paper, there really was an address on it, and watched the kid totter off. He couldn’t decide if the guy was incredibly stupid or just incredibly wasted. He slipped the paper into his back pocket, just in case. 

Later that night Stan found himself walking down the sidewalk of the sleepy college town smoking a cigarette. The party had gone late and Rick had nicked his car to take some floozy he'd met on a joy ride. Stan really hoped nothing happened to his baby, but he wasn’t going to bite the hand that was regularly paying him.

It wasn’t until he was staring up at an old run down house that Stan realized where his feet had taken him. A quick glance at the paper from his pocket confirmed it. 

Stan stood on the sidewalk smoking while he thought. 

There was a good chance the guy wasn’t even home, that he had gone to another party or passed out in some bushes somewhere. There was an equally good chance that if he was home and sober enough to remember what happened he would have no interest in doing anything with Stanley. But Rick had Stan’s car and both sets of keys to their shitty apartment, so it wasn’t like Stan had anywhere to crash. It wouldn’t hurt him to try.

He stubbed his cigarette out, climbed the steps, and knocked cautiously on the front door. It took so long for an answer that Stan heading back down the stairs when a light flipped on and the door opened. Looking back up he could make out the backlit silhouette of a man. 

“Do you know what time it is?” the man said.

“Uh, pretty late I guess,” Stan said He wasn’t entirely sure; the last time he had seen a clock it had been right before 2am.

“It’s pretty early by some people’s definitions,” the man snipped. 

Stan could already tell that this guy wasn’t the one who had given him the address at the party. He was much too sober and he had a distinct southern drawl. 

“I’m sorry for bothering you, I think one of your roommates gave me this address at a party earlier tonight.”

“Of course, he did,” the man said, his voice full of exasperation. “You better come in. My name's Fiddleford by the way. I’ll see if he is in any shape to talk with you.”

Fiddleford opened the door fully before heading into the back of the house. Stan followed him into the foyer but then wasn’t sure where he should go from there. The guy was being awfully trusting letting Stan in at all and he didn’t want to overstep his bounds.

Stan heard muffled talking from the back of the house and what sounded like an awful lot of groaning. He was guessing the guy from the party was starting to feel all the alcohol he’d been drinking. So much for Stan’s plans for a good time tonight. 

After a couple of minutes the guy from the party shuffled into the foyer.

“Look I’m awfully sorry for bringing you here under false pretenses. I was quite drunk and…” the guy started to say but Stanley quickly cut him off.

“Stanford!” he said in total shock.

The guy, his brother, Stanford winced at the sudden loud outburst before really looking at Stanley for the first time. The two brothers stared at one another mouths agape.

“Well this is a first,” Fiddleford said.

* * *

   
**2**.  


They both get drafted. 

There is some kind of cruel irony there. A cosmic joke about how their numbers are side by side even when they’re on opposite ends of the country. 

Stanley didn’t care about jokes, he was just angry and terrified. Not for himself of course. His father’s cold words, when he had heard the news, had been correct. This was probably Stan's only real chance to make something of himself. No, Stan was terrified because this wasn’t how it was supposed to be for his brother, for Stanford. Ford wasn’t supposed to be headed to fight in a god forsaken jungle on another continent. Ford was supposed to be at his dream school, making their family rich, not sitting next to Stan on their way to boot camp. But Stan was angry because he couldn’t help but feel grateful he wasn’t doing this alone. 

Stanford could appreciate the irony. This was just one more cruel twist of fate preventing him from his full potential. He was resigned, he wasn’t going to fight it anymore. He obviously wasn’t meant to use his intellect in the ways he had dreamed, so he would just have to make do. Stan being there should have just been a further twist of the knife, but instead Ford found it an odd comfort, at the very least he wasn’t going into this alone.  

* * *

**3.**  


He’d only ran down to the corner shop for some smokes. Stan knew he shouldn’t risk it, not with Rico’s guys on his tail, but this town was so small and out of the way that the chances of running into anyone who knew him were remote. To guarantee it he had pulled his hoodie tight around his face and ducked into the store when it was nearly empty, the teenage cashier and one other poor sod the only other occupants.

Everything was going smoothly until Stan and the other guy both came up to the counter. Not ideal but if Stan could make this quick the guy wouldn’t be able to identify him later. Just a quick exchange of cash for goods and he would be on his way. His heart was singing as he headed for the door, so close to freedom, until the stupid kid behind the counter had to ruin everything.

“Wow! Are you guys like twins or something?” the kid said, much to loudly for the late hour and empty store. 

Stan froze, his heart pounding for another reason now. He didn’t dare turn around, because well, because this wasn’t how it was supposed to be. He wouldn’t risk it, even if it was just some dumb kids mistake there was a chance, and Stan wouldn’t risk it. 

“Stanley?” the man’s achingly familiar voice called out.

Slowly Stan turned to face the man – his brother. “How’s it hanging, Sixer?” he said trying for casual. Or as casual as you could get in a shitty corner store in the middle of nowhere Oregon while you were buying smokes and your estranged brother was buying… alcohol… a lot of alcohol. 

Ford, because of course it was Ford, flinched at his words and that was all Stan needed, to know exactly how this reunion was going to go. 

“Look, I know you don’t wanna see me. So, I’ll just go. I’ll be outta town tomorrow and we can both pretend this never happened,” Stan said in resignation. He would have winced at the cashier’s freaked out expression but he was beyond caring at this point. 

“No, wait!” Ford cried out as Stan was turning to go. He looked a little sheepish for the outburst but continued. “I, uhm, I actually could use your help. Will you come home with me?”

Stan looked at Ford, really looked at him. His brother’s clothes were rumpled and he looked like he hadn’t slept in a week, plus he was buying a serious amount of alcohol. Something broke in Stan because this may not have been how he imagined it but it sure as hell wasn’t how things were supposed to be. 

“Alright, yeah sure thing.”

* * *

**4.**  


Stan shouldn’t have been surprised at how well supernatural junk sold. He shouldn’t have been surprised that people would happily eat up the half-remembered stories from his brother’s books or the junk he made in his garage to go with them. He really shouldn’t have been surprised when Stanford walked into his shop. 

Ford had always had a knack for finding the odd. He had found every curio shop and tourist trap on their family vacations as kids. So, it really, really shouldn’t have been a surprise. 

Of course, it was. It was a really big surprise. Big enough that he dropped the novelty snow globe he had been trying to sell to a woman and her offspring for ten times what it was worth. Not that Stan cared about the merchandise or the woman’s outrage in that moment, all he cared about was his brother standing in the doorway of his little hole-in-the-wall shop.

His brother whose face was slowly turning redder and redder with anger and was storming out of the store. 

Stan shouldn’t have been surprised. But he was, so he didn’t even think about it when he chased after Ford.  

* * *

**4.1**

Stanford should have known that a mysterious gewgaw shop selling ‘real’ supernatural knickknacks was too good to be true. He should have known it was con. Honestly, he should have known it was being run by his brother. 

But he was desperate, Bill was driving him to distraction, and with Fiddleford gone he had no one to turn to, so he had gone to see the man of mystery because he might just find some answers or at least some sanity. 

As soon as Ford had walked into the shop he had known it was a fake. The attractions were abysmal, the merchandise incredibly overpriced, and the owner’s voice was as slimy as any carnival barker’s as he tried to make a sale. 

Except of course it wasn’t just any carnival barker, it was a voice and a kind of slimy he knew quite well. His mind half-heartedly observed that his brother and father aren’t all that different as he listened to Stanley use some of their Dad’s best lines in his pitch. Mostly though, he’s just angry as he takes in the shop, it’s an obvious mockery of him, of his interests, of all the things he had ever stayed up late telling Stan about. There might as well be a six-fingered hand floating in a jar. 

He saw the moment Stanley recognized him but he doesn’t want to give his brother any kind of satisfaction so he stormed out of the shop. Ford marched down the sidewalk, hands jammed deep in his coat pockets. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, or where he’s going, he just needed to get away. 

Which made it very easy for Stan to catch up with him.

“Hey wait up, Stanford! Hey Ford!” his brother called as he runs after Ford.

Stan’s hand landed on his shoulder and started to spin him around, Stanley was saying something but Ford didn't listen simply used his momentum to connect his fist with Stan’s face.

The sound it made was satisfying and the look on Stan’s face as he stumbled backwards is even more satisfying. But it was short lived because Stan’s never backed down from a fight with his brother. 

They scuffle right there in the street, it was messy and undignified but it released something pent up inside Ford. Something that had possibly been trapped for longer than he cared to think about. He was to sleep deprived to do any real damage and Stanley didn't seem to want to really hurt him. It devolves into the occasional blows and wrestling on the sidewalk until the cops show up. 

They end up spending the night in the local jail, it’s a surprisingly good place to talk.  

* * *

**5.**  


Stanford knows even before he picks up the phone. He knows even as he’s trying to calm his mother down enough to get her to explain why she’s calling.

“Mom, Ma, I can’t understand you. You need to take a deep breath.”

He knows that it’s his brother.

“It’s your brother, Stanford. It’s our little Stanley.”

He knows. 

“Th-they found him in a motel. The cops think he was involved in a gang. Your father won’t even let me see his body. I-I know you two had your differences but you’ll come to the funeral, won’t you Stanford?”

He looks at the postcard, now crumpled, in his hand. He knows there’s only one thing to do. One thing he has to do.

“I-I’m sorry Mom, I really am, but I have so much work right now. I-I don’t think I’ll be able to make.”

The sobbing on the other end of the line would have broken his heart if it weren’t already shattered. Since it’s his last chance though he stays on the phone long enough to say:

“Hey Ma, I love you, an-and Stanley he loved you too.”

Her sobs only get louder. It’s like she knows, but he can’t think about that now.

“I’ve got to go now, Ma. I love you.”

He hangs up the phone and lets the crumpled postcard drift to the floor. He heads for the basement, he knows what he has to do.


End file.
